Callum was awoken by too-bright sunlight, squarely in his eyes.

He groaned, turning his face into the pillow. It had been kind of a… day. And night.

Rayla was… well, they had made up, but damnit. The hair-trigger for self-sacrifice was just… a lot, sometimes. And she wasn’t even next to him to cuddle, to reassure himself she was still here and not caught in that world beyond the portal, because they shared the room with Ezran and they had an agreement about that.

He sat up, because he wanted to go touch her now. The image of her slipping under the surface of that beautiful, shining, horrible water was still too close to the surface.

But her bed was empty, which was a relief, at first, because maybe she had slept better than usual and gotten up early?

Then he saw the scroll. The bed made; the sheets tucked in.

He had to clamp down on an instinctive and very bad feeling, because his head tended to take him for a ride without knowing all the facts and there could be… lots of reasons for this.

No.

There really couldn’t.

She occasionally left him a note on a scrap of paper, but this was different and final and horrible.

If she had just gone to… water the moon lilies or something… she wouldn’t have left a scroll, all rolled up tidy. This was wrong. He stared at the neatly made bed, the lone feather, the scroll…

Though this scroll was unsealed, some horrible dread threatened to choke him, because it was too horribly familiar… too close another scroll that had contained his father’s last words.

No.

This was not like that.

These weren’t the last words she would ever say to him, that was ridiculous.

He willed his head, on the edge of panic, to hold onto that thought, that it was ridiculous.

His unconvinced heart thundered against his ribcage.

His unconvinced hands shook when he unrolled the scroll.

Dearest Callum,

Too formal.

I love you.

No.

I’m so sorry, I can’t drag you into-

NO!

I’ve gone to find answers-

She wouldn’t find answers, or maybe she would, if she was insanely lucky, but she would definitely find loneliness and despair and danger and hardship. Alone. And alone was in that train of thought twice, because he really couldn’t reiterate enough how much he did not want her alone and-

A drop of liquid hit the letter.

His shaking hands crushed the edges of it.

Part of the feelings welling up inside him was anger. She had lied to him. And left him. He had shouted in her face after the battle at the Storm Spire, he had made it very, very clear how it felt when she jumped off cliffs alone and she kept doing it!

The full truth. They had agreed, and she had still lied, and left.

He placed the letter back down on the bed, weirdly numb.

His seething angry head wanted to tear it up, but his terrified heart wanted to keep what might be-

The last words she would ever say to him.

He squashed that thought, because it was ridiculous. Destiny was a book you wrote yourself, and hers wouldn’t be a story of sacrifice, he would make damn sure of that. He had twice, and would again.

He left the rest of the letter unread, wiping his wet cheeks roughly.

It didn’t matter what it said. If he found her, then she was there to yell at and that letter didn’t matter so much. And if he didn’t… he would regret tearing up her last words, regardless of how angry he was right now.

He could be angry at her and still love her.

He needed… a full breath.

And focus.

Enough focus, at least.

Head. Spinning. Dizzy. It cleared with a proper deep breath. Ibis had taught him, and he was good at breathing, really.

“Manis.”

Hand. Angry clenched fists. He released them, and the anger seemed to fizzle too. It wasn’t important now, it was important insofar as it let him stand up straight, and not waste time bawling.

“Pluma.”

Heart. Love. Still. And he would find her and tell her that, after he told her some other choice words.

“Volantis.”